Mauve Is Not My Color

I was exasperated. I had looked at dozens of department stores for mauve towels to replace my old ratty set that I simply couldn’t stand another minute. Nada. Nothing.

Why in the world haven’t I updated my bathroom in two decades? Well, change is a slow process in Debbieworld and the master bath is last on the list. After all, who sees it but Spouse and me? Since the family room is the designated reno-room of choice this year, our bathroom wallpaper with its outdated mauve pattern will have to hang on one more year.

I didn’t want to spend a lot of money on luxurious, cushy towels since they were only going to be short-term, so I set out to find an inexpensive mauve set that was one step above burlap. But I couldn’t find any at all, horse feedbag quality notwithstanding. Apparently mauve is out this year (and evidently it’s been out a l-o-n-g time).

There was only one home furnishings chain store that I hadn’t tried, so with fingers crossed, I entered the enormous towel department.

No mauve. Utter disappointment.

But then a store clerk whooshed by. By whooshed, I mean he obviously wasn’t on the lookout for customers needing help. He was on a mission of some sort with a clipboard in his hands and look of serious consternation on his face. I wondered if he needed some Ex-lax ®.

“Excuse me,” I threw at him like a cowpoke lassoing a stampeding bull. “Could you please tell me if you have any mauve towels?”

He stopped cold. “Mauve?” His tone implied I should be horsewhipped. “I seriously doubt it.”

“I really need mauve. No other color will work in my bathroom. Are you sure there aren’t any in a back room somewhere?”

He stared at me like I had just belched out loud. Then his eyebrows shot up. “You know, but I think we actually do have some in the economy section.”

I followed him to an impossible-to-find shelf at back of the department where a stack of mauve towels was obscured by more popular colors. I thanked him and, delighted, turned back to my terrific find. Having learned long ago to carefully inspect merchandise before purchasing it, I took the crisply folded top towel off the pile and shook it open with a whap. There were several picks in the terrycloth – unsightly threads pulled loose and left hanging. So I refolded it, setting it aside in a “reject pile,” and reached for another.

After only two of the first four towels passed my inspection, I became aware of my salesman buddy loitering behind me, watching closely with that forgot-my-prune-juice-this-morning look plastered on his face. As I shook out towel #5, he closed in for the kill.

“What exactly are you doing?”

“Oh, hi.” I tried to keep my tone friendly, although his was anything but. “Just checking the towels for picks. I’m trying to find four that don’t have any.”

“Picks?” Any trace of previous faux politeness was replaced by blatant impatience. “Whatever do you mean by ‘picks’?”

“You know, flaws … imperfections… picks. Like these right here.” I held out the towel, assuming he would want to remove damaged merchandise from the floor.

He scowled as he snatched the towel from my hands and whipped a ruler out of his back pocket. “If there are any flaws, it’s because people keep unfolding them and then cramming them back on the shelves.” He proceeded to drop to his knees, spread the towel on the tile floor, and fold it into a precise square, measuring each fold with his ruler. He then stood and laid the towel neatly back on the shelf for the next unsuspecting customer.

Too stunned to respond to his thinly veiled insult, I stood mutely staring as he began meticulously measuring and refolding the other rejected towel. I felt my face flame. Clutching the two good towels, I fled. It crossed my mind, as I fumbled through checkout, to report the incident to the store manager, but honestly, I simply couldn’t. I just wanted to leave.

As I cranked my car, still shaking with embarrassment and indignation, the radio filled the air with David Crowder’s voice singing, “Hap-pi-ness, that’s grace! Enough for us and the whole human race.”

My defensiveness melted. Okay, Lord. You got me. Just what I needed to hear. I laughed out loud at the timely reminder that happiness is a choice. We can choose to extend to other people the same grace and patience Papa God extends toward us when we’re imperfect, or we can stay irritated and unhappy.

I think I’ll choose happiness. And any color besides mauve.